


Drive (California Never Felt Like Home)

by miss_furniss



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: AU, Cults, M/M, Modern AU, Porn With Plot, Road Trip, the world is a mess but Hux's hair is perfect
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-15
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-14 01:12:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 11,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5723926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_furniss/pseuds/miss_furniss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hux is a militant seperatist.  Kylo Ren is the prodigal son of California State Representative Leia Organa.  They undertake an ill-advised road-trip adventure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

            “He’s schizophrenic, not _psychic_.” Hux’s voice dripped derision as he gripped the black seashell of a shitty, burner flip-phone. He scowled up at the sky, listening to Snoke’s reply.

            That sky was cotton-blue and limitless, stretching languidly over an empty expanse of southern California scrubland. The arid air was heavy and hot, and had rendered the afternoon as lazy as Hux’s passenger. The speck of a hawk circled the crown of the sky, wings spread and gliding so, so… _slowly_.

            “Yes,” Hux said, and “I understand. I won’t dis—“

            Snoke had already hung up, no pleasantries exchanged. Hux snapped the phone shut and stared at it for a moment. It lay warm and inert in the cup of his palm. “Fucking hell,” he said, finally. He got back in the car.

            The trapped air sweltered, stifling. As Hux slid into the driver’s seat, he could feel pinpricks of sweat spring up at his hairline and along his spine. He glanced at his passenger. The boy was practically _lounging_ , one sneaker on the dashboard and his cheek against the glass. Cool as a fucking cucumber.

            “Feet off the dash.”

            Ren’s eyes slid toward him. He said nothing—his long, freckled face a perfect blank—then he planted a second foot up alongside the first. He was all leg: scrunched up like that, his knees to his chest… it didn’t even look comfortable.

            Hux blew a long, frustrated breath out through his nose. “Fine. You want to behave like a petulant _child_? I’ll treat you like one. We’re not going _anywhere_ until you get your fucking _feet_ off my fucking _dash_ ,” he hissed.

            “No.”

            “…what.”

            Ren’s eyes narrowed, boring into Hux’s own as though Ren’s were a drill and Hux’s skull was oil-rich earth. “Our cargo,” Ren said quietly, basso voice a rumble that settled itself in Hux’s chest. “It’s burning a hole in your back pocket. You’re not going to spend any more time on the road than you have to.”

            Hux bristled. “You may be right. Perhaps I’ll simply leave you here and carry on alone.”

            “Fine. Dump me in the desert,” Ren said, smirking nastily. “Snoke will bury you up to your neck and leave you for the ants.”

            Hux glared, gripping the wheel as though it were Kylo Ren’s idiot throat. The boy did have him pressed into an uncomfortable logistical impasse.  “I hope you get a cramp,” Hux spat. He twisted his key in the ignition, put the pedal to the floor, and pulled his ’77 Cadillac Finalizer—its trailer full of illegal munitions, its cab full of the ‘kidnapped’ son of Representative Organa—back out onto the road.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

            Their departure point was somewhere outside the Bakersfield city limits. Their destination was somewhere in Texas. Hux had been given a set of coordinates for each, but otherwise not told what to expect.

            Outside Bakersfield, what he’d found had been a tall man in his twenties. The man began as a squiggly black line, silhouette wavering with the heat, but as Hux had approached, that line had grown and coalesced into the shape of a man. Ren was broad-shouldered but lean, hovering along the side of the empty road and idly flicking his hair from his eyes. Hux had pulled the car off the road, tires slowing as they crunched over dry, drifting sediment and scrub-brush. The boy had gotten in without a word.

            When he’d introduced himself as ‘Kylo Ren,’ Hux had very nearly laughed. He managed to swallow it at the last minute.

            “What?” Ren asked. His brows were gathering thunderheads.

            “Nothing, nothing. It’s just that…” Hux glanced away from the road and toward his passenger. They were cutting a straight line through the desert anyway; no traffic, no turns… not much of any real import that Hux could even _hit_. A saguaro, maybe. “Your mother’s PR team is good, but they’re not _that_ good.”

            Hux flexed his fingers on the wheel, gloating. His driving gloves creaked. “It’s not their fault, really,” he mused, turning his gaze back toward the road. “I can’t imagine how difficult it would be to cover up a scandal of that proportion. Your only son almost goes down for assault, except it turns out—whoops!—he’s clinically _cracked_ , so instead of the federal pen, he gets shipped off to his uncle’s hippy-dippy _care home_ in the _desert._ Tough to bury a lead like _that_.”

            Hux relaxed into the driver’s seat, momentarily content. He was so enjoying having retaken the upper hand, in fact, that it took him a moment to realize that his passenger had not responded. The silence inside the car had actually become downright hostile.

            The small hairs at the back of Hux’s neck were just beginning to rise when Kylo Ren lunged across the center console and grabbed the steering wheel.

            Kylo wrenched it to one side. For a split second, Hux tried to fight him for control, then jammed his heel down onto the brake pedal instead. The Finalizer squealed sideways across the asphalt, throwing them one into the other. As soon as the car had lurched to a stop, Hux shoved Ren back onto the passenger’s side. Ren was a big guy, but the force still bounced him off the window.

            “You _imbecile!!_ ” Hux screamed. “Are you _trying_ to—“ but Ren had lunged again, this time for Hux’s throat. Hux felt the back of his head strike his own window… he felt Ren’s fingertips bury themselves in the meat of his neck, felt Ren’s thumbs pressing hard against his windpipe. He felt Ren’s breath hot against his mouth as the man leaned practically into Hux’s lap, sprawled across the front seats. Hux tried to gasp and couldn’t.

            “My name,” the boy whispered, dark eyes locked with Hux’s own, “is _Kylo Ren._ ”

            Hux considered nodding—considered becoming just another ‘yes-man’—but didn’t.

            Instead, he glared right back, his ferocity feeding on Ren’s own until the air between them fairly _crackled._ Hux felt his face go red, then purple, chest tightening painfully as white spots danced on the edge of his vision.

            Eventually, Ren let go.

            Hux collapsed backward, heaving. He tried to do it with as much dignity as he could muster, but one could only be _so_ dignified when one was gasping like a dying fish. “… bloody _hell_ …. You really _are_ cracked.”

            Ren had eased himself back onto his own side of the car. He studied Hux, and… the fury was still there—Hux could almost _taste_ it—but it was beginning to be overwritten by that cold, probing look that Ren had worn when he’d guessed at Hux’s cargo. “So I’d recommend that you don’t piss me off,” Ren muttered, mouth tense.

            “Anything else, your lordship?” It was dangerously mouthy, but Hux couldn’t help himself. “Are you going to throw a tantrum every time I turn down an unscheduled bathroom break?”

            Hux might’ve _sounded_ nonchalant, but he’d steeled himself for further violence, right hand drifting toward the gun hidden beside the driver’s seat. He was surprised, then, when Ren _laughed._

            It was almost more chuff than chuckle, but it still seemed to signal a change in the man’s mercurial mood. Hux could’ve sworn that the car’s temperature even dropped a degree or two, the air becoming instantly more breathable.

            Ren bundled himself back into his own seat, hugging his knees up toward his chest. He gestured toward the road. “Not if you shut up and _get_ us there.”

            Hux stared incredulously while Ren tucked his chin into the crook of his own shoulder and—snuggled up like a child on a family road-trip—went to sleep.

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

            The moon rose somewhere beyond the Arizona state line.

            It was orange and fat, hanging low in the sky like an unplucked fruit. Hux drove toward it, pressing 80.  He contemplated stopping, but denied that particular urge. Ren was already asleep, and Hux… .

            Hux had learned discipline at his father’s knee. He could drive all night—and then some—if the job required. He smirked at nothing, reveling in the speed. For an old bird, the Finalizer still had quite a lot of ‘get-up-and-go.’ When she wasn’t hauling cargo, anyway. Hux could feel the trailer’s vibrations—strident as a mother-nag—as it juddered along behind them.

            Ren whimpered in his sleep. Hux glanced toward the sound, and so almost missed the sudden flash of red and blue as it played across his rearview mirror. “Shit…” he muttered. There’d been a road sign about a mile back, marking the speed limit as 70. With any luck, his excessive speed was the root cause of all this fuss.

            Brendan Hux had never had much luck, historically. He eased down on the brake.

            Ren snorted awake as they pulled over. The bump of the road had been lulling him into an easy state of mind, it seemed: he lurched forward as they stopped, feet hitting the floor and hands scrabbling at the dashboard. His eyes were wildly vacant as he registered the car, the driver, the swirling lights that illuminated the road at their back. Ren’s nostrils flared, and—not for the first time—Hux wished that Snoke had provided him with a sedative.

            “Easy,” Hux warned. He laid a hand on Ren’s shoulder, and was promptly shoved away.

            “ _Fuck off!_ ” Ren’s response was violent but predictable. This time, Hux kept the car on the road. He pulled over, and slowed the Finalizer to a crawl.

            “ _Don’t._ Not a word,” Hux hissed. He watched Ren, and could see that the man was absorbing none of this. Hux grabbed him by the chin and jerked Ren’s face toward his own. “I will handle this. Do you understand?” No answer. Hux tightened his hold, leather gloves squeaking against Kylo’s clean-shaven chin. “Tell me if you understand.”

            Ren nodded, though his gaze was still empty: the gaze of a panicked horse. “Good,” Hux replied, and let him go. The lights drew closer, slowing.

            There was a license in Hux’s glovebox that had his picture on it. His picture, but somebody else’s name. That ‘somebody else’ had an almost spotless record… not _too_ spotless, mind: complete innocence _also_ looked quite fishy.

            Hux reached over Ren’s lap and rifled through the glovebox. He could see, in his peripheral, that Kylo had gone completely stiff; Ren’s broad, bony hands were white-knuckled, throttling the cushion at the edge of his seat. Hux could practically hear the boy grinding his teeth.

            “Oh, for god’s sake…” Hux muttered, disgusted. “What are _you_ so fucking frightened of? Not _them_ , surely.” He straightened, then, and glanced back out the window. There was a blindingly bright spot of light—a flashlight—bobbing toward the driver’s side.

            Ren squeezed his eyes shut, hard. “…he won’t get out.”

            “What?”

            “He won’t get out, he wants us there, he wants us _closer_ —“ Ren’s teeth were gritted and his jaw set in a line so tense that it looked painful, his spine ramrod-straight against the seat-back. He repeated himself, murmuring almost below the threshold of Hux’s hearing: “ _closercloserclo—_ “

            There was a rap at the driver’s-side window.

            Hux began cranking down the glass. When he looked back at his passenger, Ren hadn’t _relaxed_ , precisely, but… well, he’d stopped _rambling_ at any rate. His dark eyes had snapped open to track the cop. They glittered with a quietly malicious curiosity.

            The shape beyond the window was a woman, barely older than Hux himself. Her badge reflected back the flashlight, throwing broken slivers of brightness as she moved. Her hair was pulled into a high, severe bun at the crown of her head. Hux smiled.

            “Evening,” he said. He kept his hands on the wheel, politely, and affected a blandly Midwestern accent. Now was not the time for the charming British expat routine. People tended to remember British expats.

            “Sir. Do you know how fast you were going?”

            Hux tried to look abashed. It was not an expression that he wore naturally. “I don’t. I was looking for a place to stop, actually. Any good motels around here?”

            The woman’s face didn’t crack. “I’ll need to see your license and registration.”

            “Yes. Yes, of course.” Hux handed them over, and the woman strode back toward the police cruiser.

            “She knows,” Kylo said.

            “She will if you keep doing… _that_.” Hux waved his hand, indicating Kylo’s generally tense mien.

            A silence stewed inside the cab as they waited for the officer’s return. Hux dipped his hand into the space beside the driver’s seat. He wrapped it round the butt of his gun, but didn’t draw. He could see the reflection of his own eyes in the rearview mirror: polar blue and just as cold. This was a job, like any other. He would do what needed doing.

            Hux smiled apologetically as the officer returned. “Sir,” she said. “I’m going to need you to get out of the car.”

            Hux licked his lips, hesitating. He was about the draw the gun, when—

            “No, you don’t,” Ren murmured.

            Hux’s head swiveled toward his passenger. Oh, bloody hell, this was _not_ the time…

            “No, I don’t,” the woman repeated.

            “…pardon?” Hux gaped.

            “We’re going to leave now.” Ren had pinned her with his eyes, fixing her in place like an insect on a board. He leaned forward, pressing his advantage, and… the spell broke.

            “You’re going to—“ the woman started. “You're going to... you're going to get out of the car!” she finished, suddenly enraged. She reached for her sidearm.

            “Oh, for _fuck’s_ sake.” Hux reached for his own, but then... two very _distinct_ and—Hux was determined to believe this— _different_ events occurred.

            The first was this: Kylo Ren lunging again over the center console, one palm settled on Hux’s upper thigh for no more intimate reason than a handhold.

            The second was the officer reeling suddenly backward, clawing at an invisible hand around her throat.

            Ren fisted his free hand in the air, squeezing. Hux could hear the woman gurgle and groan, her knees folding beneath her. She shot, but the bullet went wild. It sailed into the cab, whizzing past them and crashing out the passenger’s side window. An incandescent heat marked its wake.

            Hux could hear the glass of the Finalizer’s window tinkle on the ground. He could still hear the woman’s death-throes. He could feel the weight of the man who had scrambled practically into his _lap._ Beyond these, though, it was the heat of that bullet which finally brought Hux back to himself.

            “Get _off_ of me!” he roared. He shoved Ren aside and threw open his own door, swinging his legs out of the car. He wobbled for a moment, the ground watery beneath his feet, then readied. Hux gripped his gun, and stalked toward the fallen officer.

            “Up,” he spat. The woman did _not_ get up. Instead, she pointed her gun at his face. Hux shot it out of her hand, a reflex so fast that even he was not entirely aware he’d done it. Until, of course, a spray of red erupted from her hand. She screamed, and the gun skittered away. “Up,” he said again.

            When she got up, he marched her back toward the cruiser.

            It was a beautiful night, really: sparkling and cool as a glass of champagne. Somewhere behind the Finalizer, the cruiser's lights flicked off, and then the darkness was allowed to swell. The moon still hung fat and orange overhead, its impact dimmed somewhat by the lesser moon of the officer’s flashlight, lying abandoned in the sand. A shot rang out.

            Hux walked back toward the car.

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

            Fucking him had honestly, truly, never been part of the plan.

            But when Hux got back in the car, Ren had twisted in his seat. “I want to see it,” he said, voice gone dark and deep.

            “See what?” Hux was feeling—frankly—rather grumpy. There was something about shooting people that always made him grumpy. He liked it a little _too_ much, he suspected.

            “The body.”

            “No.”

            “You don’t get to tell me ‘no.’” Kylo reached for the door-handle before Hux snapped him backward, one gloved hand fisted in the boy’s uncut curls.

            “We need to leave,” Hux growled. He yanked Ren toward him by the scalp. Hux shook him—just once but _hard_ —like a disobedient pup, hung by its scruff from its mother’s mouth. At that, Ren’s eyes slid closed. He moaned.

            Well, Hux thought. _That_ was unexpected. But… his blood was hot with the adrenaline of their close encounter, and in that moment, Hux saw no reason to look this new gift-horse in its mouth. “If I told you to suck my cock—“

            “Now.” Ren looked particularly ferocious in his need, like a blowjob was some new and exciting form of murder.

            Hux let go of Kylo’s hair, pushing him away to get a good, long look. Hux’s scrutiny was curt and coolly disengaged, the opposite of Ren’s simmering energy. The boy still looked a little panicky, jittering at the edges and coiled like a spring. Hux wondered if that wasn’t where all this fury came from: if it wasn’t a natural reaction to some sheer and mortal terror, buried down so deep that likely even Ren wasn’t aware of its true scope. Finally… Hux nodded.

He leaned back in the Finalizer’s bucket seat, spread his thighs, and turned the key in the ignition. “Get to it, then.”

* * *

            The desert spread out before them like a blanket, scrubby trees and minor rock formations illuminated ever-so-briefly in the headlights before the Finalizer sped on past. Hux could feel every imperfection in the road, could feel the car’s every vibration. They traveled up through the tires… into the soles of his Italian leather shoes… up his calves… up the back of his thighs and up into his cock. He was erect, the night air cool on those parts of his skin that weren’t covered by either Kylo’s hand or by the plush heat of his mouth. The car jostled, suddenly, and Hux jerked upward, prodding hard the back of Kylo’s throat. The boy pulled off, snorting.

            Hux hissed at the rush of air against his sensitized skin. It was pouring in through Kylo’s shattered window, shockingly cold considering the heat of the day. “Did I say that you could stop?”

            Kylo smirked. Precome and saliva shone on his swollen mouth. “You’re awfully desperate all of a sudden.”

            “And you’ve got an awful lot of _back-talk_.” Hux reached out blindly and grabbed Ren’s hair again. He got a fistful of it—right at the crown—and yanked Ren’s head back down toward his lap. “To work.”

            Ren obliged, suckling briefly before sinking further, his tongue soft along the underside and throat tight around the head. Hux sighed.

            “You’ve probably never had to work an honest day in your life,” Hux mused. The ribbon of the road flew past, and Hux relaxed his hold on Ren’s hair. He massaged the boy’s scalp, encouraging. “Between Mummy’s good name and Daddy’s good looks… you fucking spoiled—“ he groaned, and thrust upward. Ren took it this time. “Fucking spoiled… psychotic… _brat_.”

            Ren spluttered as Hux came, but Hux did not release his hold. Instead, he pushed the boy down further, gouting across the back of Ren’s tongue. Ren swallowed—again and again and again—and the fingertips of his free hand bit hard into Hux’s thigh. There would be bruises in the morning, and tiny, crescent-shaped lacerations from Kylo’s close-cut fingernails. “… _fuck_ ,” Hux breathed.

            Ren scraped his teeth over Hux’s skin as he withdrew.

            “ _Fuck!_ ” Hux resisted the urge to backhand Ren, but barely. “You certainly know how to kill a mood,” he grumbled.

            Ren’s hair was a tousled mess, his t-shirt hanging loosely at the neck. He glanced up at Hux, still bent in half over Hux’s lap. “Runs in the family,” he said.

            “Oh?” Hux sneered. “Is the Congresswoman _also_ a bothersome little _sadist_?”

            “No.” Ren leaned one hand on the center console, twisting to peer out the rear-window. His face had gone curiously vacant again, his voice a roughened rumble that’d trapped itself somewhere inside his chest. “But _he_ might cause a problem.”

            Hux shifted his gaze to the rearview mirror. There were headlights on the road behind them: a car going fast and getting faster. Hux didn’t know how long it had been there. “Who’s he?”

            Ren’s eyes narrowed, searching, searching… until he plucked a name out of the dark. “Han Solo.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

            Dr. Edgar Snoke had a quiet practice in one of San Diego’s upscale neighborhoods, operating out of a pair of row-houses. They were identical but for the paint-job: butter yellow on one and a sage green on the other. One was his home; the other, his office.

            Dr. Snoke specialized in schizophrenics. So, when the twenty-two year-old son of a prominent politician began showing symptoms that were worryingly similar to those that’d affected his maternal grandfather, Dr. Snoke was a natural choice.

            This had been a mistake.

            Ben’s behavior had deteriorated at first, and then plateaued. He was a different person than he’d _been_ , of course, but at least the condition didn’t seem to be getting any _worse_. He was paranoid, by turns aggressive or detached. He was borderline agoraphobic. He was a snarling shell of the bright, winning young man his parents had raised, but at least—they told themselves—he wasn’t getting _worse._

            Until, of course, he did.

            That was years later: Ben was twenty-seven and on a regular regimen of anti-psychotics and anti-depressants. He’d been trying to attend college courses—he wanted to study engineering—when one afternoon in September, there was an incident.

            Nobody was sure what started it. Ben had lashed out at a classmate, spitting fury and advancing until he had pinned the other boy against a railing. They were on the stairwell, in the atrium. It had been a three-story drop.

            Nobody was sure whether it had been an accident: whether Ben had struck the boy with such force that he had overbalanced, or whether Ben intentionally dumped the boy over the edge. What they _were_ sure of was that the boy _had_ fallen. He’d broken his back, and cracked his skull. He would never walk again, could barely _speak_ , and what they _were_ sure of was that this had been Ben Solo’s fault.

            There had been a trial, and Dr. Snoke had testified, and Ben was remanded to his uncle’s mental health facility. Luke Skywalker had had troubles of his own; it was his father, after all, whose genes had infected Luke and Ben both. Luke assured his sister that he would do everything he could and, for a while, Ben seemed to be all right.

            Then, somehow, Ben had gotten his ankle-monitor off. He’d disappeared, taking nothing except for his grandfather’s antique Luger, and the world had seen neither hide nor hair of Ben Solo until the boy had gotten into Brendan Hux’s car.

 


	6. Chapter 6

 

            “What is he _doing_?!” Hux tightened his grip on the wheel. It threatened to jerk out of his hands as the trailer skidded to-and-fro behind them.

            Ren was rooting through his knapsack. “He’s trying to force us off the road,” he growled.

            “Yes, I can _see_ that. I’m only wondering _why_ he’d do something so dangerous while his bouncing baby boy is sitting in my front seat.” Hux glanced at Ren, incredulous. “This is where you get it, isn’t it? Your entire family is absolutely _mental,_ ” Hux said. The universe then reaffirmed that notion when Ren pulled an honest-to-god _Luger P08_ out of the bottom of his knapsack.

            “I’m sorry, what do you think you’re doing with _that_?”

            Ren cradled the pistol on his lap and began to load it. He was shaking, Hux realized. He dropped a 9mm cartridge on the floor, where it rolled beneath the seat. “It belonged to my grandfather.”

            “Crazy people do not _get_ guns,” Hux began to insist. He stopped when that gun was suddenly pointed at the side of his head.

            “I am _not_ ,” Ren snarled, “ _crazy_.”

            Hux watched him for a moment: one eye on the boy with the gun… one eye on the road. “Prove it.”

            “I’m not,” Ren repeated, voice quaking. He lowered the weapon, slowly. “It _hurts_. It’s like… it’s like a _pressure_ on the inside of my skull, and… it hurts _so fucking bad_ , but—“

            Solo’s car slammed into the driver’s side. The Finalizer’s tires squealed as it was swept across the road, the trailer yawing dangerously to one side. For an instant, though, Hux thought that the trailer was going to right itself. He _willed_ it to right itself, his knuckles white and teeth gritted.

            It didn’t. The trailer went up on two wheels, paused, and then went thudding over onto its side. The car went with it.

            The Finalizer flipped, shearing away from its trailer hitch. Hux hung by his lap-belt as the car crashed down onto the asphalt, roof-first. It slid, throwing sparks into the night, then stopped so abruptly that Hux felt the teeth rattle in his head.

            Hux glanced around, the world gone topsy-turvy. He could see the trailer through Ren’s window; it’d come to a stop nearly parallel with the car itself. As for Ren, his belt had held him secure, even if he’d begun to scrabble at it like an animal with its foot in a trap. Hux took a moment to be glad for his insistance that they put them on after Solo had shown up in the rearview mirror.

            The scene was strangely soundless. Ren was yelling at him—Hux could see that—and he could see Solo’s booted feet approaching, crunching glass beneath their heels. The only sound that he could hear, however, was an overwhelming ringing in his ears. Hux raised one hand to his head. It came away bloody.

            He blinked, or… he thought he blinked. Hux supposed that he must’ve lost consciousness, because when he opened his eyes again, he was alone. Ren was gone from the car, his lap-belt detached and dangling. Hux clicked the release on his own belt.

            The ringing began to dissipate as Hux crawled out of the car. By the time he’d retrieved his gun and pushed himself up to his feet—his fitted suit filthy, slivers of glass tinkling from his ginger hair—Hux could hear voices. He looked around.

            Curious. There were _two_ men standing opposite Kylo Ren, tense as Old West duelists where they were arranged along the road.

            Solo, Hux recognized. The man had been in ‘textiles’ before his wife had gotten into politics, after which he’d supposedly left his mafia connections behind. Hux had always doubted that, but… as he’d said, Leia Organa did have _quite_ the PR team.

            The other man _towered_. Seven foot at the least _._ His aviator glasses glinted with the reflection of a small fire that had caught inside the Finalizer. His long brown hair was a relic of the ‘60’s, of the free-love generation. He looked mournfully unhappy.

            “—ust come home,” Solo was saying. “You’re off your meds, Ben. You’re not thinking straight.” He moved toward Kylo, shaking off his buddy’s warning paw.

            Ren stood a little further down the road. He was shrouded in darkness, not quite touched by the headlights of his father’s Dodge Falcon, or by the Finalizer’s fires. He was deceptively still, hands buried in the front pocket of his hoodie. “But I am,” he murmured. “For the first time in a long time.”

            Solo was close enough to touch him now, had left both Hux and the giant behind.

            “Please,” Solo said, his gravelly voice gone quiet. “Come home, Ben. We miss you.”

            Ren searched his father’s face. “It’s too late.”

            “No, it isn’t. No questions asked, alright?”

            Ren shook his head.  “I’m being torn apart. I want to be free of this pain. Snoke says—“

            “ _Fuck_ Snoke!” Solo growled. The doctor’s name had erased all gentleness from Solo’s voice, from his stance. He grabbed Ren by both arms, seemingly unsure whether he meant to shake or shield him. “He’s a _quack_ , Ben! He disappeared right before you did and… there are skeletons in his closet that nobody ever...” Solo’s face crumpled. “I'm sorry that we ever trusted him.”

            “I know.  And I know what I have to do. But I don’t know if I’ve got the strength to do it. Will you help me?”

            “Yes. Anything.”

            Ren smiled, eyes wet. “Thank you,” he said, and then he drew his grandfather’s gun from his pocket.

            The long, thin barrel prodded Solo in the chest. He looked down at it, uncomprehending, then looked back up at his son. Ren kept his eyes trained on his father’s face, and pulled the trigger.

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

 

            Hux sucked in a breath as Han Solo hit the asphalt.

            Solo’s pet hippie roared incomprehensibly at the sight, and in an instant, Hux was watching a knife arc through the air, carving a path from the beast’s hand toward Kylo Ren. It shivered silver in the moonlight, and then buried itself in the meat of Ren’s shoulder. Ren grunted, and staggered back.

            Hux had his gun drawn before the knife had even struck home. “Stay where you are!” he commanded. He walked backward in a slow half-circle, planting himself between the pair. “Just stay where you are…”

            A knife to the shoulder was not a _big_ deal. Not immediately, anyway, and not if properly treated. Hux called out, eyes still fixed on the hippie.  “Kylo?” Nothing. “ _Kylo_?” he barked again, and when that got no response—

            “ _Ben_!”

            “…don’t.” Kylo sidled up beside Hux. He gripped the hilt of the knife, and Hux saw immediately what he meant to do.

            “Only if _you_ don’t pull tha—“ Hux began, but Ren had already pulled the knife free.  “Oh, well, never mind. I can see that you _want_ to bleed out on the highway.”

            Black fabric didn’t exactly _show_ blood, but Hux could certainly _smell_ it well enough. The knife was smeared red where Ren had thrown it to the ground.

            Hux flicked a cautious glance back toward Han Solo. “Is he dead?”

            “Yes.”

            “And what do you propose we do with _that_?” Hux nodded toward the hippie. The man glowered, clearly tensing for a fight.

            “Chewie?” Ren blinked, considering. “We’ll leave him here to bury dear old dad. Take this,” he said, and pressed something into Hux’s left hand. Hux chanced a glance down at his open palm. Car keys.

            “Good enough,” Hux said. “But we’ve got business that needs concluding first.” Hux tucked the Falcon’s keys away, then reached into his breast pocket and withdrew another. This key was brassy and much smaller. He tossed it toward the giant.

            Chewie caught it in one massive hand. “Unlock the trailer,” Hux called. “Load as much of _our_ cargo into _your_ vehicle as will fit.”

            The man made a garbled sound that—sans speech impediment—might’ve been ‘why should I?’

            “Because if you don’t,” Hux sighed, “I’m going to shoot you in the head.” The man looked unconvinced. “Fine. If you don’t cooperate, my _friend_ here is going to use your pretty little knife to cut Solo into pieces. We will scatter him for the coyotes, and I will _still_ shoot you in the head. Are we clear?”

            Chewie said nothing. Instead, he fixed Ren with a look so disgusted and forlorn that it twisted the man’s broad face into something unrecognizable. Then, after a moment, he lurched toward the trailer.

* * *

 

            In fifteen minutes, they were gone. Chewie had loaded crate upon crate of weaponry into the Falcon, and then he had stepped back.

            He never stopped looking for an opening to attack, but… he’d only had the knife.  Besides, that sharp-dressed ginger had been staring fixedly down the barrel of his gun, blue eyes like laser-sights. In the end, all that Chewie could do was watch as the pair had slid into the car and put the road between them. Chewie was glad, then, that he’d had the foresight to pull his tablet from the glovebox.

            If he had his tablet, then he still had access to his software. If he had access, then he could still track the chip embedded in Ben’s neck. Even if the only reason that Chewie might track him was to _gut_ the kid from stem to stern.

            The Falcon had peeled away, plumes of dust chasing the tires. In seconds, its rear lights were pinpricks… then it had disappeared entirely, slid into the dark like a fish into the sea.

            After they’d gone, Chewie had shuffled slowly toward the body of his best friend. He folded up and knelt beside it, his long hair brushing Han’s chest as he lay his hand over the other man’s heart.

            And found it beating.

            There’d been a moment of complete incomprehension, during which he had just _stared_. Then, in a flurry of activity, Chewie called Han’s name; he shook him by the shoulders; he wrenched at the collar of Han’s shirt. Finally— _finally_ —Han spluttered awake.

            Han started, eyes wild as he pushed himself up onto his palms. He looked up at Chewie, he looked at the empty road, and then he just began to laugh.  He seemed to regret that almost immediately, clutching his chest with a grimace. “…Ben, you sonuvabitch…” he groaned, still laughing.

            Chewie blinked down at him, brown eyes magnified behind his glasses. Clearly, he had missed a step.

            A grin split Han’s face, and suddenly he was thirty years younger. “Chewie,” he said, “it was a _blank_.”

 


	8. Chapter 8

       

            The Falcon was just as fast as the Finalizer had ever been. Faster maybe. It handled well, and the shocks weren’t _completely_ shot…

            Hux still hated it.

            “I spent a lot of money on that car.” Hux glanced toward his passenger. Ren was curled up, much as he’d been that afternoon: feet on the dash and his face turned toward the window. He didn’t answer.

            “I loved that car,” Hux continued. “Can you even _begin_ to comprehend how much _work_ went into restoring that machine? It wasn’t a vehicle anymore, it was _art_.”

            “Eye of the beholder,” Ren mumbled. He turned toward Hux and smiled, just a little. “I thought it was a piece of shit.”

            Hux sniffed at that. “Philistine.”

            Ren made a sound that might’ve been agreement, and turned back toward the window. Hux drove, and for a while, silence reigned.

            The smell of blood suffused the cab. It pricked at the inside of Hux’s nose; it trickled up into his brain. Truth be told, he rather _liked_ the smell of blood. It was meaty and complex. This time, however, he was unsure whether or not he liked its _cause_.

            “I’m going to stop at the next exit. We’ll need to see to your arm.”

            “No, we don’t.”

            “ _Yes_ , we _do._ Bloody hell, Ben—“

            “Kylo.”

            Hux sighed. “ _Kylo._ I’m not going to keep acting like your _parent._ I’ve seen where that will get me.”

            Ren frowned, his mouth flattening itself into a hard, unhappy line. “Just drive,” he said. “I’m assuming that that’s what Snoke hired you to do. Why don’t you _do_ it? Why can’t you just _do your job_ instead of treating me like a fucking _joke_ , like a fucking _child_?”

            Hux had a million witty repartees. Instead, he was quiet. “I hope you’re as committed to the cause as you seem, because there’s no going back home,” he said, eventually. “Not anymore.”

            “California never felt like home,” Ren murmured. He turned back toward the window, and glowered at an empty sky.

 


	9. Chapter 9

 

            The ‘Sunshine Inn’ was a dump. Two sagging twin beds, a television that seemed to receive only static, a chunk of paint and plaster gouged from the far wall. Hux had paid for the night—or for what little night was left—but figured that they could spare about an hour.

            Ren stalked inside; Hux hovered on the doorstep, surveying the scene with an aristocratic sneer. “Go clean yourself up,” he said. “You’re a fucking mess.”

            The boy had been seething silently since they’d left Solo’s body in the dust, tension mounting inside the car until the air molecules themselves had seemed to vibrate with Ren’s furiously unspent energy. Hux had ignored him.

            He wasn’t terribly interested in Ren’s post-patricidal snit. Hux _was_ interested, however, in remaining alive and intact, in which case it’d seemed wisest that they stop for a while… let Ren simmer down before the hulking, murderous manchild pulled yet _another_ idiot stunt.

            Hux left Ren in the room and retreated toward the parking lot. He leaned against the Falcon’s hood and lit a cigarette, inhaling deeply.

            They were in New Mexico, and that bulbous orange moon had sunk and shrunk, its color draining. Beyond the single streetlamp that illuminated the motel’s gravel lot, the sky too had leaked its richness: fading from a deep, starry black to a uniform dress-blue. Hux fished his phone from his pocket, and dialed.

            “Are you actually doing _anything_ to keep us off the radar, or—“ he paused, pressing the little black shell to his ear. “Oh. Well. If you’ll forgive my saying so, you may have taken the chicken out of the Crock-Pot a little too early. Your _'prophet'_  could certainly be doing a better job.”

             Hux sucked down his cigarette as Snoke continued, the doctor's voice slithering down the line like a serpent. “Yes. I will, but… yes.”

             This time, Hux was prepared when Snoke hung up on him. “Bloody unprofessional,” he muttered. His cheeks hollowed as he took one last, hard drag, then he flicked the filter to the ground. Hux ground out the flame beneath his heel, but did not return to the room. Not yet.  He had one last call to make.

             He dialed again, and she picked up. At the sound of her voice—deep and cool as still water—Hux unconsciously stood a little straighter. “Phasma,” he said. “There’s been an incident. Tell me that your men are in position.”


	10. Chapter 10

 

            Kylo Ren was talking to himself in the bathroom mirror. 

            Hux paused on re-entering the room. The boy had stripped off his shirt—with it gone, Hux could see that _‘boy’_ was entirely the wrong word—and was leaning toward his own reflection. He had one broad hand splayed on the mirror and was looking deep into his own eyes, mouth moving near soundlessly. Hux strained to hear, incredulous.

            “What the _hell_ are you doing?” he asked. Kylo ignored him.

            Instead, Ren’s face heated; he hissed his half of the conversation, snarling at himself. _Silo_ , Hux heard _. Codes._

            Hux felt the weight of his gun, heavy and reassuring at his waistband. “Kylo. When I ask you a question, I expect an answer.” He moved toward Ren, palms outstretched. “Ky—“

            With a snap of his neck, Ren headbutted his own reflection. Hard. Cracks spiderwebbed out from beneath Ren’s forehead and he paused, seeming to gauge his reflection’s reaction. When the thing—predictably—did _not_ react, Ren took it poorly.

            With a roar, he smashed his skull into the mirror again—and again, and again—drawing great, shuddering lungfuls of air through his nose, looking like nothing so much as a bull throwing itself against the side of its pen. Seeking to wound its toreador but succeeding in wounding only itself.

            Hux grabbed him by the shoulder, and jerked him away from the mirror. “ _Stop_ ,“ he spat, and for an instant, it seemed like Kylo might. Ren stared at Hux without really seeing him.

            “It’s alri—“ Hux started, and then Ren took a swing at him.

            The punch connected. Hux’s head flew back, jaw cracking. He staggered. Hux had the presence of mind to taste the blood in his own mouth, then his thoughts clouded. He reacted on instinct, and swung back.

            He caught Ren in the shoulder, Hux’s fist colliding solidly with the undressed knife wound. There was already a curtain of dried blood covering Ren’s left side; now the sticky wound began to ooze anew. Ren groaned, curling protectively in on himself.

            Hux began to reach for his gun, but instead… Ren recovered, lunging just as Hux’s fingers brushed the grip. In a blink, Hux had been tackled to the ground.

            Ren straddled him and struck, his fist catching Hux _again_ in the jaw. He was so _heavy_ , pressing Hux into the carpet, thighs clenched around Hux’s waist. Ren drew back, prepared to strike again, but this time Hux was ready.

            He grabbed Kylo’s wrist in a vise-grip. “Stop,” he repeated. Hux’s voice was low and dangerous, never mind that Ren had him in a losing position. Hux squeezed, gloved thumb grinding against the violin-bow tendons of Ren’s wrist. “Breathe. Be calm.”

            Ren _did_ breathe, but not in the way Hux had been suggesting. He breathed fast and shallow and furious, practically hyperventilating. He vibrated in Hux’s hold, the spell so close to breaking… Ren teetered between this tenuous calm and further violence.

            In the end, it was more about self-preservation than anything else.

            “Oh, never _mind_ ,” Hux growled. With his free hand, he grabbed Ren by the hair and pulled him down. Hux lunged upward and met him halfway, crashing his mouth against Ren’s in what wasn’t so much a _kiss_ as it was just another brand of blow.

            Ren made a small, surprised sound into Hux’s mouth, and ground himself down onto the other man’s lap.

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

 

            “Do you want this?”  Hux had flipped the script: shoved Kylo off and bundled him back against the wall. Ren was naked, his jeans kicked into a pile beside Hux’s blazer. Hux himself refused to sink any further into a state of dishabille; his collar and pants were unbuttoned, but that was all he would allow.

            Ren watched him intently. His gaze was focused now, though no less wild. “Yes.”

            “Say it.”

            “I want you to fuck me.” There was a blossom of blood at the center of Ren’s forehead. It trickled down into his eyebrows and along his nose. Probably Hux should _not_ find this sexy, but…

            “If you insist,” he smirked. He held Ren’s jaw in one gloved hand, pressing two fingers into the man’s mouth. They would taste, he expected, like the oily musk of leather. It would be a nice counterpoint to the smell of Ren’s blood, to the bleachy smell of precome as it dribbled down Ren’s cock. Hux had left that untouched, bobbing against the carved muscles of Ren’s stomach.

            The man really was a physical marvel, Hux thought. Too bad he behaved as though his brain were full of bees.

            Ren curled his tongue around Hux’s fingers, eyes sliding closed. He hummed contentedly until Hux withdrew his hand.

            “Enough.” Hux replaced his fingers with his mouth, kissing hard as he moved his hand between Ren's legs, as he pushed those wet fingers against and then  _inside_  the man. Kylo groaned, and grabbed Hux by the hair.

            Brendan Hux was wiry, quicker than he was strong. Kylo could’ve easily overpowered him, but it was precisely this which made Hux want to _wreck_ the man. Hux had been powerless once upon a time, and so to wield power now—over someone whom nature dictated _should_ , by rights, wield it over Hux—was utterly intoxicating. Hux fucked Kylo on his hand, and with one hard push worked his way up from fingertip to knuckle. Ren bit down on Hux’s lower lip; when he drew back, there was blood on both their mouths.

            “Cheeky cunt.” Hux had had the foresight to grab a disposable bottle of lotion from beside the bathroom sink. Flustered and flushed, he shoved his pants down around his hips, popped the cap, and slicked up. He hoisted one of Ren’s knees up over his shoulder, and began to push in.

            The man was _tight._  Ren's head thrown back, muscles tense and bunching in his shoulders… he wriggled on the head of Hux’s cock as Hux pressed closer.  Every small snap of his hips thrust deeper and more decisively.

            “S’good,” Ren murmured. “Don’t… don’t st—ah…” He keened low in his throat as Hux hit home.

            “Shh. Breathe.” Hux settled himself hip to hip with Kylo Ren, sunk to the hilt and shifting gently.  When Ren had adjusted, Hux began to move in earnest—harder, _faster—_ pounding Ren back up against the wall until the plaster shuddered rhythmically.  Hux fucked him, and felt his own mind empty, and in that emptiness felt the insinuation of a second presence.

            Hux could feel sweat beginning to bead at the small of his own back... but he could also feel the sweat trickling down through Ren's hairline.  He could feel Ren's nails where they dug into his scalp... but he could also feel his  _own_ nails as they dug into the soft crook of Ren's knee.  He could feel Ren's body wrapped around him, velvety and heavy and hot... but he could also feel Ren's pleasure, the fullness and pressure and the electric spark of internal nerves.  Hux breathed into Ren's mouth, eyes wide.  “…what’re you—“ _doing_ , he began to ask. He was interrupted.

            The wall shuddered, and with it, the broken mirror.  A shard of glass shook free. It fell, and when it struck…

            The sound _exploded_ in Hux's mind, and he doubled over with a cry.  A host of images spooled outward from his central cortex: a woman laughing, a butter-yellow row house, a boy flying through the air... a house in the desert and a fire that would be seen from space.

            Kylo’s hand tightened painfully in Hux's hair, body clenching.  The vision _ripped_ an orgasm from him, from them both. There was a guttural shout, but Hux did not know to whom it had belonged.  For a moment, there was nothing.

 

* * *

 

            When his mind cleared, Hux found himself on the floor with a rugburn on each knee and his head on Kylo’s shoulder. He pushed himself hurriedly backward. “What the ever-loving _hell_ was _that_?!”

            Ren sniggered. He was still sprawled lazily against the wall, belly rippling as he began to laugh. Hux recoiled.

            This was not a _healthy_ laugh; not a nice, post-coital, so-glad-we-let-off-steam laugh. This was more of the helpless, hopeless, isn’t-it-funny-to-what-degree-my-life-is-fucked variety.  Ren let it roll through him, and when he’d finished, wiped his eyes. He grinned. “Told you I wasn’t crazy.”

            Hux stared, fighting terror. “Glad we’ve got that cleared up,” he said.

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

 

            Hux stormed off to take a shower.

            Ren was a mess; the gentlemanly thing to do would’ve been to allow him first crack at the bathroom, but right now Hux could not be arsed to care. He was approximately 700 percent _done_ with this operation. He stood under the spray until his fingers pruned and the water began to cool.

            “So.” Hux re-entered the bedroom, a towel wrapped around his waist. “Psychics are real.”

            Kylo had turned off the lights, but his eyes gleamed in the light from the bathroom. He’d curled up, naked and filthy, atop one of the two twin beds. He shifted beneath the coverlet. “How stupid are _we_?” he asked. “Two perfectly good beds and we fuck on the _floor_.”

            “Answer the question.”

            “I don’t recall your asking one.”

            Hux huffed. He sat down on his own bed, towel draped across his lap. “Are psychics real?”

            Kylo shrugged. “Seems that way.”

            “Anything else I ought to know about?” Hux wanted to throw his hands up in frustration. He resisted the urge. “Is _Bigfoot_ real? What about the Loch Ness Monster?”

            “Can’t say. I haven’t met them.”

            “Fucking hell.” Hux reached up to massage his temples. “Fine. Just go wash up already. You smell like a charnal house.”

            Ren threw off the coverlet, shamelessly bare as he loped toward the bathroom. When he passed the broken mirror, Hux caught a glimpse of the man’s reflection: fractured and distorted in the dark.


	13. Chapter 13

 

            There was no road leading from the highway to Snoke’s compound. Just a barely discernable track in the desert; Hux had almost missed the turn, but then Kylo had nudged his shoulder, wordlessly.

            Ren had been marginally more relaxed when they’d left the motel, but… as the sun rose, the tension inside the car rose with it. Dawn was a bright ribbon, strung along the horizon; as Hux drove toward it, he swore that he could actually _taste_ Kylo’s potential energy. It was like ozone, the metallic tang of the air before a lightning strike. It was like static, prickling the invisible hairs at the back of Hux’s hands.

            The Falcon juddered beneath them as it turned off the highway and onto uneven, sandy hardpack. On this terrain, their heavy cargo was asking an awful lot of the shocks.

            The sun was high when they finally reached their destination: driven hours out into a scrubby no-man’s-land of rolling hills and red, jutting rock formations. A six-foot chain-link fence marked the perimeter of Snoke’s compound, though any buildings remained out of sight. That fence was topped with a roll of barbed wire, and extended for acres to either side. At its center was a barred steel gate, with an electronic lock. The car rolled to a stop, and Hux shifted into park.

            He stepped out and the heat unfurled into the car. Hux felt his hair—an irredeemable _mess_ now—sticking loosely to his forehead.

            On the other side of the car, Kylo slid out of the passenger’s seat. His dark eyes probed Hux from across the roof. “You’ve lost your nerve,” he said, jaw set unhappily. “I can go on by myself, you know.”

            “Sod off,” Hux muttered. He felt rumpled and unshaven and just generally _disgusting_ , but his mind prickled with equal parts excitement and apprehension. “It’s called _caution_ , Kylo. It’s a new fad. I don’t expect you’ve heard of it.”

            Ren’s mouth gentled, slightly. “You’re coming, then.”

            “Obviously.” Hux withdrew his phone from his pocket. “God knows the sort of catastrophe you’d cause if you went in there _alone._ ” He dialed Snoke’s number, heart in his throat as the call rang once, twice, and then…

            “We’ve made it,” Hux said into the phone. “Open the gate.”

 

 


	14. Chapter 14

 

 

            The ‘compound’ would’ve been a disappointment, if its sudden appearance on the horizon hadn’t been so bone-chillingly familiar.

            The gate had swung away and the car had rolled inside the fence. They’d still had quite a ways to drive before they reached the main building, but when they did—

            Hux sucked a hard breath in through his nose. That was it. That was the house in the desert.

            It wasn’t much to look at, really: just a dilapidated, single-story ranch house. It sat squat amidst several small, neglected outbuildings. But he had seen it _before_ , in the hurricane of Kylo Ren’s head.

            Kylo did not seem to notice Hux’s distress. He was bent over that knapsack again, hands fussing invisibly inside. Hux pulled the Falcon up to the main house and—for a moment—stared down the building, as though he could force the house to blink. Then he turned the key in the ignition, and the car shuddered to a stop beneath them.

            Kylo sat up. He took in the house, and Hux, and then his eyes flicked toward the space between the seats, where Hux had hidden his gun. “You ready?” he asked. “You could still leave.”

            “Can you really see what’s in my head?”

            Kylo considered, eyes narrowing. Hux felt the press of that second presence on his brain and—instinctually—he steeled himself against it. “Some of it,” Ren answered.

            “Then you know that I can’t.” Hux retrieved his gun. He slid it into his waistband, at the small of his back. “Come on, then.” He forced a sardonic smirk. “Our ‘ _supreme leader_ ’ awaits.”

            Kylo snorted at that, and swung open his door.

* * *

 

            The house was unlocked. Stone and adobe with a low, peaked roof and tiny windows: better to contain the cool air, and to guard against the heat. It _was_ pleasantly cool when Hux stepped inside, its front room dark and empty. As he walked, he realized that his own footprints were following him, left in the heavy layer of dust that coated the bare-board floor. “Where—“

            “Here.” Kylo had slipped in behind him, silently. He nodded toward a section of floor that, Hux belatedly realized, had _seams_. A trapdoor. Kylo hovered beside it, staring down. “…he’s here. They’re _all_ down here.”

            Something in Ren’s voice told Hux that he didn’t want to know just what ‘ _they all_ ’ implied. He shoved past Kylo, hunkered down beside the door, and stuck his fingers in the seam. “Well? Are you going to help, or are you just going to _stand_ there?” he asked snappishly.

            Kylo hesitated. In that moment, Hux could feel the energy field that surrounded the man—that strange, subtle _force_ —gathering itself. It shivered nervously, though Ren himself remained completely still. Then his eyes flicked toward Hux, his mouth twisting into something that—were it just a little less apprehensive—might’ve been called a grin. He raised his hand.

            The panel began to lift free of the floor. Hux jerked his own hand backward, as though the door were a poisonous snake. “Jesus _Christ—_ “

            “Not even close,” Kylo murmured absentmindedly. “You’ve met my dad. Virgin birth is giving him a little too much credit.”

            “Har- _fucking_ -har.” Hux stood and looked down into the hole, once the trapdoor had swung clear. There was a ladder, and beyond it, black.

 

 


	15. Chapter 15

 

            At the bottom of the ladder was a corridor… a rounded tube of cool, dry sandstone and concrete. A primitive electrical system had been set into the ceiling: exposed wires and flickering yellow lamps that were set too far apart for Hux’s taste. He and Ren walked the corridor side by side. Hux’s hand, swinging free between them, brushed the back of Kylo’s and—in that instant—it was as though an electrical jolt passed between them. Kylo shuddered.

            Hux looked up. “You’re awfully quiet,” he frowned.

            Kylo adjusted his knapsack, hefting it higher onto his back. He flicked a glance toward Hux, considering. The corridor was soundless all around, save the tap and shuffle of their feet upon the floor. “Do you expect to survive this?” he asked, finally.

            “I don’t fancy myself a martyr, if that’s what you’re asking. Why?” Hux asked. “Don’t you?”

            As they walked, they passed door after door to either side, recessed into the concave walls. Hux imagined a labyrinth of identical corridors: a rat’s warren of tunnels and storerooms and barracks. He wondered, not for the first time, at the wisdom of his coming in _alone_.

            Except that he wasn’t exactly alone anymore, was he? Ren was hardly an ally, but… “You might act the part, but you’re not a _total_ idiot. You must’ve had doubts about the good doctor,” Hux hazarded. “And I don’t think you want to turn me in.”

            Kylo glowered at nothing, his grip twisting the knapsack’s canvas strap.   “What I _want_ , and what I’m allowed, are not always the same things.”

            Hux rolled his eyes. Melodramatic, much?  “Well. Let’s start with something easy, then. I’d like to live through this. For the sake of argument, we’ll pretend that _you_ would, too. How do you propose we do that?”

            “Like this,” Kylo said, and then touched Hux’s mind.

            It was foreign and strange and too sudden; Hux jerked backward, snapping his mind shut as though he’d slammed a door. “ _Stop that!_ ”

            “You need to let me in!” Ren growled. He grabbed Hux’s shoulder and shoved him back against the wall. With two inches, several pounds, and a serious misunderstanding of _boundaries_ on his side, Ren seemed momentarily to _tower._ Hux glared up at him, coldly—

            and found that Ren’s eyes were everything that his hostile body language was not: unsure and shiveringly sincere. “If you want to survive,” Ren insisted, “you’ve got to let me in.”

            Hux didn’t blink. He could feel his own heartbeat, thudding evenly between their chests. “You won’t do that again. Not without permission.”

            “I can.”

            “You _won’t_. Understood?”

            Kylo dropped his hand from Hux’s shoulder. He nodded, mouth resigned. “He’ll rip your brain to shreds.”

            “Which is why I am _giving_ you permission, you great _pillock_ ,” Hux said. “Come here.”

            Ren didn’t need to be told twice. He lunged into an ungentle kiss, hands fisting in Hux’s shirtfront. Hux felt the back of his head hit the wall, and then his mind expanded, elastic as a rubber band.

 

 

 


	16. Chapter 16

 

            There was one final, wooden door at the end of the hall. Hux grasped the knob and set his jaw. Kylo had curled up at the edge of Hux’s conscious mind and stayed there. He was dimly discernable, like the ghost of hand against Hux’s neck.

            Hux could feel the man’s physical body radiating heat beside him, and tried to ignore the strange doubling effect that this produced. He glanced toward Ren, who nodded. Hux pushed open the door.

            His first impression was of an enormous space: wide and high-ceilinged. The air was not so close here. It was dark, though; Hux’s eyes adjusted slowly.

            There was a man at the center of the room. He was just a silhouette, seated on what looked like a repurposed electrical chair. The man leaned toward them, hungrily. “ _Welcome_ ,” he hissed. “Well done.”

            Hux opened his mouth to speak, but stopped as Ren stepped forward.

            If Hux had amended his categorization of Kylo Ren from ‘boy’ to ‘man,’ then he was now tempted to turn it back again. Even in the dark, Ren looked suddenly very vulnerable as he crossed the room. The prick of blood met Hux’s nose as Ren moved past him, and he recalled how the man had leaned over the motel’s bathroom sink, rinsing his t-shirt and hoodie until the pink water had run clear.

            He recalled the scars that he now knew hid beneath that shirt... shiny, pink lacerations and puckered burns. Some of them were at an angle that indicated self-infliction. Some of them were not.

            Snoke stood as Ren approached. Kylo _dwarfed_ the man, Hux realized, and yet that air of childishness remained. “Doctor,” Kylo murmured. He went down on one knee.

            “My son.” Snoke smiled genially. He reached out to stroke a proprietary finger down the length of Kylo’s jaw.

            Hux had only ever heard Snoke’s voice over the phone, and had only ever seen Dr. Edgar Snoke in photographs: a frail, bald-headed old man, skin pulled tight as a drum across his face. A scar ran from the crown of his head to the center of his browbone; it creased as he smiled.

            “And Mr. Hux.” Snoke’s raspy voice was deep despite his size. “We meet at last. I trust that you’ve brought me the _rest_ of what you promised?”

            “As discussed.”  Hux straightened his shoulders. He stood haughty beneath Snoke’s scrutiny, never mind the face-full of bruises and the ruined suit. “Though your ‘ _protégé_ ’ here cost us valuable time, as well as some of our cargo.”

            “As we work together, you will see that some weapons are less obvious than others.” Snoke tapped twice on the underside of Kylo’s chin. Ren stood at the apparent signal. “Isn’t that right, my boy?”

            “He’s not as narrow-minded as he was before. I could open his mind further, if you asked me to.” Ren's eyes glittered maliciously. “Crack him like a nut.”

            “Not necessary. Mr. Hux and I are in agreement, as regards the _new world order_.” Snoke turned toward Hux. “Are we not?”

            Hux stepped forward, finally. “We are.”

            At that, Snoke’s smile deepened. “Approach,” he said, crooking his finger. Hux felt his stomach fall.

            Kylo stepped away from the chair, disappearing into blue-black shadow. Hux replaced him, moving forward until he stood before the doctor. The top of Snoke’s head barely crested Hux’s chin, and yet…

            Hux shivered as the man reached up and took him by the face. “You will kneel,” Snoke said, and began to insinuate his mind into Hux’s own.

 

 


	17. Chapter 17

 

            Brendan Hux the _first_ had been a native of Dublin, and a member of the Provisional IRA. He’d been a violent man: violent in his politics and violent in his home-life, and when his wife absconded to London with their seven year-old son, Hux did not bother to look for them.

            That son had missed and resented his father in equal measure. He’d acted out, predictably, though less predictably he had preferred not to fight with his _own_ fists, but rather to persuade his schoolmates—those brawnier and stupider than he—to do his dirty work. After one particularly destructive scuffle, Brendan Hux II had been expelled briefly from Sixth Form, and his mother had then given him a choice.

            She’d gotten a job in America, she said. He could come with her, and behave, or he could go back to his father, whom he’d not seen in several years. She hadn’t expected him to choose the latter—not really—but he had considered it. He was a solemn schemer of a boy. He considered everything.

            In the end, however, Brendan had rejected that option. He’d emigrated and he had ‘shaped up.’ He’d gotten into a top university, gained citizenship. He had applied to Quantico.

            He was ever aware of the version of himself whom he had left behind: the version who would’ve gone back to his father, who would’ve taken up the more extreme mantle of the Provos and built bombs for independence.

            He had left that version of himself behind, but now— Edgar Snoke’s palms on either side of his face, the man’s thumbs stroking Brendan’s cheekbones—he felt Kylo tug that version to the forefront of his conscious mind.

* * *

 

            Snoke dismissed them after he’d been satisfied.

            It’d been a subtle sort of torture, allowing the man to card through his brain: not painful, but almost unbearably intimate. Hux had wanted to squirm away from the intrusion, but there was nowhere to _go_. Snoke’s mind had slithered into his own, about as pleasant as an earthworm burrowing through naked earth.

            When the doctor withdrew—finally—Hux felt a spasm run the length of his spine, nervous system totally overwhelmed. “… _shit_ …” he gasped. His eyes were wide as he stared up at the doctor.

            “Both Ren and I are glad to have you," Snoke said, quietly. He removed his hands from Hux’s face; he dropped them to Hux's shoulders, and gave him a paternal squeeze. “And we thank you for your service. Now, I suggest you get some sleep. The men that you’ll be training will be here before the day is out.”

 

            The ten-cent tour proved Hux correct: there were barracks in the compound, and storeroom after storeroom of weaponry and nonperishable food. There was one room, too, which was filled with computer terminals. Only one of them was operational, whirring to itself in the far corner.

            He was given private quarters, down the hall from the empty barracks. After Snoke had shown him to his room, the doctor had turned and begun to walk back toward his own audience chamber. He’d gestured Ren to follow.

            Hux had stood in the door and frowned at the retreating pair. Kylo glanced back, eyes empty. Hux met them and—for a moment—hoped that his own thoughts weren’t being broadcast too loudly.

 

 


	18. Chapter 18

 

 

            Somewhere in New Mexico, a stolen car sped toward nowhere in particular. Not the navigator’s fault, he insisted: the blip on his tablet computer—the signal they’d been tracking—kept winking in and out. Electromagnetic interference, Han said. This part of the country never did play by the rules.

            Beyond that, a woman oversaw a local SWAT team as they set up camp around what they suspected was a militaristic cult. They eschewed riot gear for desert camouflage, jeeps hulking beneath sand-colored netting. The woman herself wore a bulletproof vest and mirrored glasses, her short blonde hair drifting in an arid wind.

            Unaware of Phasma’s camp, cars traveled like a row of ants toward the compound, carrying men and women who had heard the doctor's call.

            And beyond even them—a mile south and underground—Brendan Hux twitched gently in his sleep.

 

            He jerked awake when someone touched his cheek. He found Kylo standing over him.

            Ren laughed. “I could’ve killed you,” he said, his tone somehow both sadistic and surprisingly fond.

            “Lucky me that you’re sentimental, then.” Hux sat up on his cot. The room was barely better than a cell: low-ceiling, military-grade mattress and a desk. He did have his own toilet—that was nice—but the metallic thing sat squatly in the corner, unenclosed. “Are you alright?” he asked.

            Kylo looked genuinely puzzled. “Why?”

            “Because the last time I saw you, you were wandering off for some alone-time with a _madman_ ,” Hux explained. How did anyone go through life being this _dense_? “A madman whom I now know is _also_ fucking psychic. You can imagine how much I do _not_ want to have to explain that to the bureau, by the way.”

            Kylo sat down on the cot. It sagged beneath their combined weight. “I knew you weren’t what you seemed, but… I didn’t know you were a fed.”

            “Until I let you in.”

            “Yes.”

            Hux swung his legs over the side of the bed, sitting side by side with his unlikely ally. He gave Kylo a narrow once-over. “Why?”

            “Why what?”

            “Why is the _sky_ blue?” Hux huffed. “What do you think, Kylo? Why the fuck would you _help_ me? I watched you kill a man. You don’t gain _that_ much by playing nice with law enforcement.”

            Kylo watched him out of the corner of his eye. He’d lost the hoodie, Hux realized, stripped down to his loose, white t-shirt. It was torn at the shoulder, and stained pink all down the side. There was a patch of gauze beneath that tear, Hux knew. He knew because he had put it there. “You killed someone, too,” Kylo said. He licked his upper lip, considering.

            Hux watched the man’s tongue. “That was… a farce. For your benefit,” he admitted. “I left her done up with some zip-ties and fired a shot into the air. Didn’t know what you were then, did I?”

            “You still don’t.” Ren leaned closer.

            “No. I don’t,” Hux said. He let himself be kissed. It was gentler this time; he felt Kylo sigh into his mouth. The man sounded tired. Hux wondered what—precisely—Ren had been put through while they’d been apart.

            “You’re safe,” Kylo said. “Don’t worry. You’ve got your agenda, and… and I’ve got mine.” He looked Hux in the eye, one broad hand kneading Hux’s thigh. “But you can be useful to me. That’s why I helped.”

            “How very romantic,” Hux said drily.

            Ren sniggered. “Am I that obvious?”

            “I’m afraid so,” Hux answered, then felt his heart skip a beat when Kylo had the good sense to _blush_.

            Ren’s grin grew tentative. “I’d like to have sex again,” he said, voice low. “If you’re amenable. It’s, um…” he licked his lips again. “I find it grounding.”

            “Is that all?” The room suddenly seemed even smaller than it had before. Hux tried to ignore the Spartan accommodations: the cold concrete floor, the insect hum of the overhead light, the mattress so thin that he could feel the frame beneath it. He concentrated, instead, on the wide, smiling mouth that hovered inches from his own. Kylo leaned over him, and Hux realized that he could make or break the man with a single word.

            “No,” Kylo said.

            “Come here.” Hux lifted one hand to Kylo’s neck, fingers sinking into his long, dark curls. Kylo’s hair was greasy with unwash, but the man hummed contentedly into Hux’s mouth, body sagging with relief. “We’re going to be alright,” Hux said, and hoped he wasn’t lying.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Well...
> 
> the twist is out. Jeez, this story is such trope-tastic trash; I can't even stand it.
> 
> Title comes from Halsey's 'Drive,' btw. Honestly, I came up with this entire thing while listening to that song as I drove to work.
> 
> Freeform, which means that there will be things which I want later to change. I'll wait until the whole thing's up, though.
> 
> Critiques are very welcome :).


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